Stitches
by tFantasyFan
Summary: 8 years have passed since the last funeral and the guys are scattered across the country. An enemy they thought long gone is back in the mix and death- being the very thing that pulled the family apart- is about to bind them together again.
1. Chapter 1

_Okay, so I wandered the net and then the corners of my itchy and sleep-deprived mind in search of inspiration, and it struck. This would be the result. RECENTLY EDITED to collaborate with the direction I chose to take things in._

_Disclaimer: I do not own them or (as of yet) any cool merchandised gear pertaining to them. Go figure._

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_**Donatello: Boston.**_

Rain descended from the clouds in small, spattering bursts, stinging the skin of those unfortunate enough to be traveling on foot, sending sprays of moisture across car windshields, striking the pavement and rising again in little curls of steam in the half-lit streets. Concealed in a trench coat and oversized hat, Donatello Hamato skirted from corner to corner, occasionally glancing upwards with a small frown. An olive-green hand, for a moment, emerged from a beige pocket, palm facing up and gathering a few stray sprinkles. With a sigh and a shake of his head, the purple-banded turtle shoved it back out of sight, clutching a small paper bag closer to his body as he eyed the streets for other unlucky pedestrians.

Apparently, it didn't matter where you were: the city of Boston was like any other in its ability to rain during the most inconvenient of times. Not that he was going to be deterred by mere precipitation. No, the genius had traveled under much more trying circumstances than a little wet weather. If anything, considering his history of being whisked away to alien planets and hurled into other dimensions and periods of time, the light sprinkling could be considered a reprieve from the usual.

Still, he wished the weather channel's forecast could have been accurate for a change. He'd almost never had to deal with this level of incompetence in New York. Though he couldn't be sure if that aspect of the other city was different now; Donatello hadn't been to New York in nearly three years. Briefly pausing to get his bearings and adjust his disguise, he darted across a street and into a newly familiarized series of deserted roads and hidden back alleys, careful to keep as much of himself hidden from potential passerby as possible.

If he were asked to make an educated guess, Donnie would estimate that everything had started to snowball with the death of Master Splinter eight years prior. It had been fairly obviously coming after their last defeat of the Shredder. Weight loss, decreased appetite and mobility, being more easily fatigued during mundane activities. He had become more susceptible to illnesses and climate changes, getting sick more frequently as the ninja master got older. But even after seeing the signs of what was inevitable for months, the pain of losing their only parent and mentor had struck the four turtles with incredible force. At one point before waking up to find that the mutant rat had passed on, the pacifist had thought himself fully prepared for just such an event. He'd thought that, when it finally happened, he would be able to move on in a brief amount of time.

Donatello had really hated turning out to be wrong on that matter. When the shock was over, when the pain had settled for merely catching up to him every once in a while, he was finally able to accept it. There had been some solace in the fact that he hadn't suffered a long, drawn-out death either by illness or being captured in battle. Old age had simply finally settled in and taken its toll, the way it did with every other kind of creature in the world. Knowing he had been at peace and lived an eventful life now served the purpose of helping rather than causing more pain. Donnie, at least, had managed to reach that point.

For a considerable length of time following the hasty and somewhat furtive midnight funeral (something that had left small burning reminders of how cruel and unfair fate could be, even if nobody had stated the facts aloud), things settled down into a routine state of near-normalcy. Instead of Master Splinter taking them through morning practice, Leonardo had taken up the mantle. Michelangelo made sure everyone ate and got out of bed and didn't dwell on the painful absence of their father on a day-to-day basis. Donnie threw himself into upgrading security measures, sanitation techniques, making sure every member of the family was healthy and that any injuries they received were looked after. For all of them, there was always something they could find to do, to keep themselves busy and distracted.

Looking back, he considered that perhaps if he hadn't been so consumed with what he was doing, he would have been able to notice that Raph didn't do much of anything anymore. Where he would normally have channeled his sorrow and grief into anger and let it go completely, the second youngest turtle instead became withdrawn and silent, a faintly detectable presence drifting from point to point about the lair. He followed orders without complaint, attended practice and patrols without attitude or backtalk, always looking on with a neutral expression that said far more than words ever could. Things had changed, and he had changed in kind as a means of dealing with it.

Needless to say, Raphael had been the first to leave.

It was somehow shocking, painful and a little predictable all at once. About four months after the death of Splinter, he'd walked out of the lair door and simply never walked back through it. Soon, it turned out to be the mere beginning of a growing trend, and Michelangelo had relocated to San Diego, California, about two years after his initial departure. Letting the youngest go had been difficult, but they couldn't simply force him to stay in New York if he wasn't happy there. And there was also the fact that he'd actually seen fit to inform his remaining brothers of his intention and selected location, with the firm promise to keep in touch. It was a promise he adhered to strictly, the results of which were three to five letters a month in April's mailbox and a P.O. box that they could reach him at. He'd now been in San Diego for nearly five years.

Donatello was not without his share of exploration, having taken a three-month excursion to the city of Tokyo at about the same time as Mike's relocation. They'd been some of the most riveting and educational months of his life, spent drooling over the sheer genius of some of the most advanced technology in the world, and he'd known he would never regret having gone there. He'd returned to New York and settled back in the lair for a while, living comfortably with his older brother, before April informed them that she, too, would be relocating, and hopefully getting a start on the O'Neil Tech industry in Boston. The redhead then announced her intention for the two remaining turtles to relocate with her. There had been no small amount of debate between the three, but in the end, only Donatello decided to accompany her.

Which led him to where he was now: having been out of New York for three years and darting about empty Boston streets. Parts of him regretted making the decision to leave, knowing that Leo would never be able to bring himself to abandon the last home of their master. He didn't doubt his brother's ability to take care of himself in a satisfactory fashion, but it gave him great grief to know that the blue-banded turtle was in New York City with all of their old belongings, all alone. Sometimes he wondered if his brother was living in the past or if he'd simply had enough of travel, and had really meant it when he'd said he wasn't leaving again. What frustrated him was the fact that he couldn't really ask Leo about it because, with the antique shop closed and April in another city, there was no address to send messages to, though Leo saw fit to write every couple of months to keep in touch. Which was still more than Raph had ever managed.

Apparently, someone had neglected to inform Donatello that P.O. boxes were only legal in California nowadays. The efforts his brother undertook to make himself available were truly astounding. It wasn't as though he could ask.

The sky burst open, sending cascades of heavy droplets crashing, kamikaze-style, into the world below it. Having finally managed to reach his destination, Donatello turned his thoughts away from his scattered family and the feeling of incompleteness it left him, aptly leaping up to grab hold of a random windowsill. His climb up the side of April's apartment building no longer presented the challenge it once had, though the rain made finding his usual footholds difficult. Slipping and catching himself as he neared the fourth floor window that was his destination, he toyed with the idea of convincing April to, for once in her life, get an apartment on the ground floor. Then he wouldn't have to hop around on windowsills like a deranged monkey, and she would stand a better chance of escaping in the unlikely (but still possible) spreading of a fire.

Swinging upwards, he threw himself through the open window with precise timing, rolling and landing on his feet gracefully in the dark apartment. Donnie shook himself off as best he could, closing the window and curtains behind him before dropping his disguise to the floor. Mentally, he began preparing a brief apology speech that he knew he would have to give for getting water all over her newest rug. It was already considerably soaked from the window having been left open, but she had the tendency to blame puddles on the one descended from water-loving creatures.

"Hey, April, I'm here! You really didn't have to leave your window open for me; not only do I have opposable thumbs and fingers capable of pushing it open, but, in case you've forgotten, I'm also a trained ninja. You know, learned in the art of infiltration?" He called out half-sarcastically, feeling around for the area in which he knew her light switch to be. There was no reply to his remark and he frowned. "Now there's no way you're asleep! _You _told me you wanted to talk about that new firewall program _tonight_, and I did not walk over here in the rain with fresh coffee for-"

The light switch flipped up, casting a bright yellow glow over the majority of the well-decorated one bedroom apartment that had become so familiar to him, and the words went silent in his throat. A small paper bag fell the floor with a light thump, setting the beginnings of a hot brown puddle into motion.

As an individual with a history in crime fighting, the signs of a break-in were rather painfully obvious. Overturned, torn up furniture, miscellaneously scattered personal belongings, broken glass from where someone had cleared out the dinnerware cabinet. Brown eyes traveled quickly over his surroundings as Donatello moved through the apartment with experienced precision, searching for signs of April and whoever had been in her home. The front door was still closed and locked. It hadn't been picked or busted through with brute force, which didn't make any sense, because no regular criminal could have come through a fourth-floor window on a whim.

His breath caught in his chest with a burst of suspicion. No, no regular criminal could manage to break in through a fourth floor window; but _they _certainly could. _Damn it. Damn it, damn it, __**damn **__it._

More on edge than ever, he cautiously made his way towards the single bedroom, aware that if his hunch was correct, danger could be concealed behind any shadow. The door swung forward awkwardly, hanging on a single hinge and home to several new and not-quite aesthetically pleasing holes. Keeping to the shadows, he crept forwards, listening for any sound that might give away another presence. Taking in a steeling breath, olive-green hand darted out, striking at the light switch and drawing back in preparation to defend itself.

The air froze in his lungs, arms dropping uselessly to his sides as his knees buckled beneath him. It couldn't be real; his eyes were playing tricks on him, blurring prematurely with tears that he wouldn't require, because there was no way that was April. Not the woman who had been a surrogate mother, a sister, a partner and a best friend for all these years. But it was, and it would be for as long as he stared at her bloodied body. Of their own accord, his eyes searched the room for anything that might disprove his theory, catching sight of the image spread across the light yellow floral wallpaper like an ugly beacon of his worst fears personified. The sobs were building up, choked off in his chest and in his throat.

For a long while, the genius turtle knelt on the soiled apartment floor in silence, staring at the painfully familiar symbol of the Foot Clan. It shouldn't have been possible. None of this should have been possible. The proof laid before him nonetheless, immobile in its determination to be noticed. They had killed April. His thoughts felt hazy as they rolled through his brain, not quite able to take root. What was he supposed to do now?

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_Okay, there's the first chapter, which I suppose could be referred to as the Prologue. I know it's kind of slow going, so sorry about that. Any thoughts? Questions? Comments? Please, feel free to hit that Review button._


	2. Chapter 2

_Thank you for reading through the Prologue and actually continuing! I'm very much obliged. And I know that a lot of thoughts revolve around Raph. I just figured that if you don't know what happened to somebody, you think about them and what might have happened a lot more often than the people whose lives you at least know a little bit about._

_Disclaimer: Not mine. I'm out of ideas on how to say it, so there it is._

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**_Leonardo: New York_**

Leonardo, it could be said, lived a very comfortable life. Everything he needed, he had, and that was perhaps as simply as it could be put. He had electricity, food and shelter at any given time. Despite his somewhat recent discovery of his utter lack of connections in the city, he was still capable of providing for himself without needing to rely on a human friend. And if he got around to thinking he was lonely, the feeling could be pushed back as quickly as it arose. He didn't need to have his family within fifty feet at all times to get by or to know they were safe. They didn't need to live in the lair for him to know they loved him. If finding their own paths meant leaving the city behind, then he was happy that they were happy, and he'd lived without his brothers before.

It had occurred to him, once or twice, to consider taking off for a while not long after their master's death. Overnight, the responsibility of being the head of the clan had been dumped on his shoulders, and he hadn't been sure of his ability to handle that on top of everything else. Just a few more months of training, he had thought, and he would be ready. He didn't bring the consideration up, not wanting to upset his brothers so soon after such a great loss. On a deeper level, he had also been rather against the idea, not wanting to let his brothers out of his sight. And it didn't matter if he thought it was kind of selfish; he wanted to give himself that small indulgence in light of everything that had happened. So he'd taken up the duty of head clan one step at a time and discovered that, as with any other thing in life, there really was no being ready. There was only choosing to live with what you had.

When Raph had left, he felt the sharp pang of failure stab at his heart. He was the oldest. He was responsible. It was his job to notice his siblings acting strangely, and it was his job to confront them about it. Such a simple task, one that Master Splinter had managed to perform with four unpredictable children under much more trying circumstances. The ninja master would have seen Raphael's sudden lapses into silence, his diversion from conflict, would have recognized that he would leave before it could happen. And Leonardo hadn't managed to notice it. And so his brother had left without a word to indicate where he was going, what he would be doing, and what had driven him away in the first place.

The small, well-hidden, childish pieces of Leonardo were furious with his younger brothers for leaving, Raph in particular because he had started the entire thing. While he was trapped in the lair by ghosts of the past, they were scattered around the world, beginning lives away from their family. He blamed his anger on getting used to the changes that had ensued. When you grow up with only four other people that you know and love, whose business is always intertwined with your own no matter how hard you try to separate it, you get used to speaking to them daily, to seeing them perform mundane tasks and taking note of their personal habits.

To suddenly find yourself isolated, only communicating with them once in a blue moon, was a definite change; one he wasn't certain he liked.

The eldest turtle ran through his katas with the single-mindedness only achieved through frequent repetition and insane focus. Sometimes he wondered if his brothers still trained or if they'd let go of that part of their lives as well. In the end, it probably didn't matter, he figured. He still had the means to train, and so he did. He could still make solo runs every so often, keeping one eye open for trouble, and so he ran.

His life was run on what was both a strict schedule and an aimless one. Every morning, he woke up at the same time; he ate, and he trained. From there, he found life took to a generally boring pattern. Nobody to talk to. Nothing one person could do that interested him. Until his next meal, until his next run for supplies, until his next training session, there were few things to occupy him. He was left with silence, reading, television, thinking and meditation. But he'd been able to function on his own before. His life was satisfactory.

Exiting the dojo on nearly silent feet, Leonardo strolled into the main living area and calmly settled himself in their old reclining chair. If he listened carefully, he could still hear the sounds of heavy rain trickling through the sewer pipes overhead. The last time he'd checked the weather, they'd mentioned a pretty substantial rainfall over the next few days. He reminded himself to watch the news later, to gain an idea of when things would dry up again. Rain wasn't his favorite kind of weather; there were too many tunnels that could give out and flood the lair. It was something he'd always kept an eye and an ear on the lookout for growing up.

He wondered if it was raining in Boston and San Diego, too. Leo sometimes found ways to check up on things like weather and other happenings in the cities he knew his brothers were in. It was reassuring to be able to at least have some idea of what was going on around them, even if he couldn't really warn them or protect them if something should happen. Things had been relatively quiet for all three of them lately, he noted with satisfaction. Quiet was usually good; it meant that there was less of a chance of his little brothers being swept up into fights that were over their heads. He wished he could say he knew the same for Raph, but chances were that the hothead had managed to get himself involved in some kind of massive trouble. It was practically written into his genetic code.

Leonardo shook his head, reaching forward and snagging a book off of the coffee table. He flipped it open to a random page and scanned the lines, but found his eyes wandering over the walls of the lair more often than not. Since his brothers had left, he hadn't changed a single thing. All of their posters and games and projects were still in their rooms where they'd left them. On some level, he berated himself for keeping their rooms like some kind of sick shrines to the dead. On another level, he told himself that he was most certainly _not _keeping shrines, but was really rather foolishly hoping that they would come back someday. And on yet another level, he told himself that he wouldn't know what to do with their things anyway, because he could never gather up the heart to throw them away.

He felt it to be rather bittersweet. Once, he had hated the burden and responsibility of being eldest and being leader. He'd resented his father for placing it on him and resented his brothers because he had to look out for them at all times. Their mistakes were his mistakes. His mistakes could get them injured or killed. Leonardo had found that he didn't exactly want to be responsible for that. It went to figure that once his brothers were gone and he was free of the responsibility, all he could do was wonder if they were safe; if they were taking care of themselves; if they'd gotten themselves seen or hurt while he wasn't there to watch them. He had the freedom to do whatever he wanted, and all he wanted was to be responsible for his brothers, because he wasn't sure who he was without them. It was a biting cycle.

The book landed heavily on the table's surface, unable to pull him in enough to occupy both his thoughts and his time. He took in the familiar sound of silence, sighed lightly, and was debating the benefits of tuning in to late night television when the familiar yet long unheard sound of the door hydraulics hissed into existence.

Turning sharply and pulling himself into a defensive crouch, Leonardo took in the sight of one rain-soaked Donatello panting in the doorway.

"Donnie?" He asked, leaping forward with a growing smile. It had been _ages _since he'd seen the purple-banded genius, and while this was certainly unexpected, he wouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth. The smile froze and dropped as they locked eyes, his younger brother's shining with fear and what looked suspiciously like tears. Judging by the tattered state of his disguise, including caked on layers of grime and muddy stains, he'd been traveling nonstop for days. Had he come straight from Boston? Something wasn't right. "Donnie, what's going on?" Donatello caught his breath for a moment, looking away as he seemed to struggle to regain his composure.

"Leo…I need your help."

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_There we are: the end of the chapter. Was it any good? OOC? I'm still planning it out, and this thing's going all over the place lol. Please review?_


	3. Chapter 3

_Well, I just feel awful. The longest break between updates of my short-lived fanfiction career. This writer's block is my imminent destruction. Now that I'm back from my school's Winter Break, I should have more time for updating…The planning has pretty much come to a dead halt, though. It's annoying me. You'll want to read the recently edited first chapter to keep up with where I plan for things to go._

_Disclaimer: Mine? No. Now? Nope._

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He watched small tendrils of steam unfurl themselves and hover in the air above his tea with an opaque gaze, hands folded neatly on the kitchen table as he forced himself to remain outwardly calm throughout Donatello's narrative. The younger turtle was uncharacteristically lacking in his usual collectedness, fumbling for words and tripping his way through simple sentences. His voice was strained and hoarse, worn down from days of travel and a lingering sense of disbelief over the current situation. Taking in the tale and considering all that it implied with a thoughtful frown, Leonardo let loose a soft sigh. It passed through the small shimmering cloud above his cup, otherwise allowing no signs that it had ever existed.

When he'd pictured his brothers coming to visit, this wasn't what he'd imagined. After nearly three years since the last time he'd seen the genius, he'd hoped that the circumstances would be lighter, that they wouldn't be accompanied by a suspected sense of obligation or an emergency situation. Was it so selfish to hope for a pleasant experience once in a while? Leo mentally shook his head, opting to view the silver lining for a change: his brother was still here, and rather than attempting to deal with the situation on his own, he had come to his former leader for help. There was some good to be found there, he ultimately decided.

He pushed himself away from the battered kitchen table as Donnie's voice broke off into a brief cough, eventually leaving them with nothing but the sounds of the rain above and the sputtering of a coffee-maker on its last legs. The eldest withdrew a chipped mug from the familiar cabinet, casually tossing it in his brother's direction and ignoring the flickering of a dim naked bulb as the subway ran overhead. Donatello caught it mostly on instinct, reaching over and snagging the pot of caffeinated gold from its docking place, eye ridges raising as a cardboard box of leftover takeout and a plastic fork were set before him.

Leo caught the questioning gaze with something of a shrug and a smirk, returning to his own seat with practiced calm and gesturing for his younger brother to eat. Once upon a time, he would have abhorred the level of takeout consumption he'd been reduced to, and he knew it. But he'd discovered not long after the departure of Mikey that preparing edible food was more of a gift than an acquired skill, and after nearly a year of living on sandwiches and instant noodles he'd gained a new appreciation for the industry. Besides, if his brother drank that coffee on an empty stomach he'd end up with an ulcer.

After a few minutes of silence, he sighed again, this time perfectly aware that it was audible and recognizable for what it was. Brown eyes met his own head-on for a moment before shying away, and the tale picked up again, more hesitant than ever. By the time it was finished, all of Leonardo's pretenses of casualness had vanished, replaced with vigilant urgency that hadn't been required in ages. Drawing to an end, Donnie pulled out the disturbing Polaroid and dropped it onto the rough wooden surface in front of him. Leo swallowed and reached for it, ignoring the voice in his head that was screaming for him to do otherwise, that it couldn't be possible. But there it was: the symbol that had always haunted the most miserable and terrifying moments in their lives, clearly not as far in the past as he'd believed it to be stuck. The turtles locked eyes again, one gaze steely and urgent, the other cautiously kept subdued.

"She's…really gone, then," the eldest murmured softly, almost speaking to himself before snapping back into the present. He fought with himself to keep his voice from trembling, to keep his eyes dry as he considered the sight that must have lain beneath the contents of the photograph. "Did you call the police?" The genius gave a small nod in response, eyes bloodshot and looking more haggard than ever.

"They were- they were on the way when I left. I wanted to stay, to make sure everything was…taken care of…But I couldn't even do that. They wouldn't have let me- I'm not- not a relative," he finished quietly, eyes beginning to sting with tears.

The words '_not human_' went without saying, dangling in the air before them like any other unresolved issue in their lives. It lingered like cigarette smoke, practically visible in the fluorescent lighting. Leo dismissed the strange urge to wave a hand around in front of his face in an attempt to push it away. Even if it had been tangible, it wouldn't have been dissipated by a mere waving of hands. He cast his eyes upon the Polaroid again, tugging it towards him with the tips of his fingers.

"This doesn't make any sense, Don. The Foot Clan…I thought they disbanded when we destroyed the Shredder. In all this time…they've never resurfaced. Why would they do this now?" The purple-banded brother shook his head.

"I don't think they were acting on their own. I think they were hired. This…with April- it was completely outside of their usual style. They've always been about getting in, doing their job and getting out. But this-"

"They took their time. Instead of hiding their presence, they flaunted it. It was almost like they wanted someone to know…" Leo trailed off, closing his eyes in the face of realization. "It was a trap for us," he sighed tiredly.

"And April became the bait," his brother tacked on, voice thin. Eyes flickered upwards again desperately, the very picture of grief combined with rage, a sight that hadn't been seen in a long time. "Leo, we can't just let them get away with this. They'll find other contacts. They'll-they'll track down Casey or Angel, anyone that might have been associated with us at some point."

"We won't let that happen. I promise."

"How?"

"The same way we used to deal with threats. Finding the source and meeting them head-on. If they want us, they'll get us." Donatello's hand gripped his mug more firmly as he nodded in agreement. "All of us," the elder brother added firmly, gazing at the table surface and not quite seeing it.

"I'm sorry I couldn't have dropped in under better circumstances. This isn't-"

"Don't be ridiculous, Donnie. You're still my brother, and April-" a momentary pause- "It's our fault she got involved with the Foot in the first place. Taking care of this is our responsibility." They exchanged half-smiles in a simultaneous effort to be reassuring.

"Then what's the plan, Fearless leader?" Leonardo hardened his resolve, leaning forward in his seat determinedly.

"First things first: we find our brothers. There's some news that they would want to hear."

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_Any opinions? I'm not quite feeling this chapter, myself. In fact, I'll need to find myself a beta-reader for this fic to help me keep it in character. Comments, criticism, I welcome all. Thanks for reading!_


	4. Chapter 4

_Thanks for waiting for chapter 4, you guys, and for the reviews! I give MAJOR props and thanks to Kallasilya for agreeing to beta-read for my sorry butt. So many things could have gone awry without her!_

_Disclaimer: Somehow, even after all these fics and thousands upon thousands of words, I still have no ownership of my favorite fandom. _

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**_Michelangelo: San Diego_**

The sun slowly sank into the west over the city of San Diego, casting a fiery orange glow over the streets and into the clouds. Engine sputtering loudly, a brightly painted van drew to a stop at a red light. Leaning against his window with a bored sigh, the driver tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, observing the dull blinking of the green WALK sign.

If someone had asked Michelangelo, before the death of their sensei, where he saw himself and his brothers in the future, San Diego certainly wouldn't have been the first place to cross his mind. In fact, before Master Splinter's death and the events that followed, he would easily have answered New York and left it at that: with everyone alive, happy and together, still out on the streets kicking bad-guy ass and getting smacked over the head with a cane during morning training.

Of course, things never really went the way he'd planned. Namely the parts where his entire family was alive and, well, together. Sometimes he still found it hard to believe everything that had happened and where he'd ended up. Once in a while he found himself to be surprised, stopping suddenly and looking around wondering if this was really the way things were going to be. Then he would recover his senses enough to remind himself not to live in the past or succumb to the powers of the great What-If. He would shake it off, right himself, and keep moving forward with a determination that his father would have praised.

Still… As the traffic light changed from red to green, causing the DON'T WALK sign to buzz brightly and allowing the beat-up vehicle to clamber back into motion, he wondered why he'd left the lair in the first place.

It wasn't like he didn't love his brothers. For that matter, it wasn't as though he hadn't loved New York. If he were honest with himself, he knew he'd probably end up going back someday. Which really only left him with a stronger desire to answer himself. In the end, most of his reasoning rested with Raph, for being the first to break off.

Mikey wasn't sure whether he was angry with his brother for doing so. There had been a period of several months where he'd started to think that maybe the four of them would be able to get through Master Splinter's death relatively intact, or even a little bit stronger than they'd been already. Things could never be the same, but a precarious equilibrium had been set up and maintained successfully. Or it _had _been, until Raphael left and brought even more focus onto the serious changes that had been going down.

Michelangelo could say with the utmost honesty that he'd tried his hardest to keep things going and balanced. And he'd even managed it for a while. In the end, though, he hadn't been able to ignore the little everythings and nothings that were telling him how his life would always be different, and so he'd left, setting a course for California because he'd always wanted to see it. After several years of wandering the state and deciding to settle in San Diego to take the edge off his homesickness for New York, he no longer recalled whatever novelty had led him there. At this point, it was a state like any other and a roof over his head.

And with the revival of the increasingly popular Cowabunga Carl, he was standing on his own two feet, completely independent. Allowing a sharp smile to slide over his face as he brought the van to a screeching halt in the back lot he used for personal parking, Mikey decided that he liked the feeling that accompanied looking after himself. He didn't have to explain his every action, didn't have to worry about accidentally stepping on his brothers' toes or getting someone aggravated: all he needed to do was make sure that his milk hadn't expired.

So far, he'd managed to do an outstanding job of it.

The manhole-cover fell back into place with a loud scraping noise, causing him to wince at the sheer levels of non-stealth he was employing. _Way to be ninja-esque. _He hit the sewers with a familiar ease, feet automatically turning towards his usual route home and churning up the water lapping around his ankles. His beak wrinkled slightly as he breathed, protesting at the smell of California sewers. Apparently it took a lifetime's worth of conditioning to be able to properly ignore raw, rank stench. Part of him wished that Donnie might have warned him about that, or maybe Leo, since he was the one with the most experience in foreign sewers.

As it was, the orange-clad turtle dutifully stayed his course, hoping that his nostrils were gaining some kind of resistance in the process. While approaching the proverbial home stretch and very seriously pondering the merits of investing in nose plugs, Mikey paused in mid-step, tilting his head to the side with narrowed eyes. Concealed in the darkness ahead, roughly around the location of his front door, voices were drifting, holding a quiet conversation.

"Do you really think this is it?"

"Well…it certainly resembles his descriptions."

"You said that the last time we stopped, and that turned out to be a dead end."

"Will you just relax? I'm sure this is the place, okay?"

Utilizing his previously instilled ninja skills, Michelangelo leapt onto a nearby pipe, crawling forward cautiously until he hovered over the general area the voices had been drifting from. He held in a plaintive sigh. It figured that the day after he'd finished decorating to his satisfaction, somebody decided to get curious and wander through the sewers, managing to break into his humble abode. What was it about California that drew forth the weirdest parts of people? The turtle dropped heavily into the ankle-deep water below, nunchucks out and whirring as he prepared to face down the intruders.

"Okay, dudes," he started warningly. "I'll give ya thirty seconds to drop whatever you took and get the shell outta here before I open a can of ninja whoop-ass. And trust me, these babies pack a lot more punch than the foam ones."

There were two startled gasps and a loud splash as somebody jumped backwards. For a few moments, only the faint sound of running water could be heard then:

"Give a turtle a heart attack, why don't you, Mikey?" A flashlight flickered to life, casting everyone's features into sharp relief. Mikey's face split into an unmistakable grin as he belted his weapons and stepped forward.

"Donnie! Leo! What the shell are you guys doing here?"

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_Okay, that's the end of our chapter! Questions, comments, reviews...? Just let me know what you think ^-^_


	5. Chapter 5

_Disclaimer: they do not belong to me *shrug*. Simply the way the world works._

_**Last Chapter (because I'm friggin' awful with updates): "Donnie! Leo! What the shell are you guys doing here?"**_

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That question was in the air a bit earlier than he'd expected.

Donatello blanched slightly at the suddenness of it, eyes rising to meet those of his traveling companion. They both seemed to be thinking along the same lines. Mikey was supposed to be more excited over their initial arrival before launching into an inquisition. Were they really so bad at keeping in touch that visiting was cause for confusion?

Some brothers they'd turned out to be.

He'd known that they'd have to break the news to Michelangelo relatively shortly. That was also a part of the plan: tell Mike what happened, get him to agree to help, find Raph and repeat. That way they could find out who was behind this and take them down before someone else got hurt…or killed.

Still, the subject of why they had arrived in San Diego was going to be an uncomfortable one to approach. The glance over their brother's rather to-the-point greeting morphed into a silent argument over who would end up having to break the news to him. Michelangelo, it seemed, was oblivious to the sudden tension between his siblings and so he continued chattering, eagerly ushering them through his rusted door and pushing them towards the center of his home.

"Not that I'm not psyched to see you or anything, 'cause I am, and I _did _invite you about a million times, right? Oh, uh, you guys can just throw the extra props and stuff to the side, I'll find 'em if I need to later," he added with a distracted wave in the direction of his only slightly stained couch, indicating that they should have a seat. It looked to have accumulated a vast array of styrofoam ninja weaponry and the occasional scrap of tin foil. Donatello set about clearing the sofa with little regard for what landed where.

"I take it business is going well," Leo remarked dryly, ducking a flying foam ninja star and taking the opportunity to observe his surroundings. Mikey's home seemed to consist of a considerably large single room containing the afore-mentioned sofa, an unstable-looking bed and a refrigerator. He caught sight of random games and comics, but not quite as many as he had expected. For the most part it just contained additional props for Cowabunga Carl and a few containers of questionable age. Cluttered, yes, but comfortably so.

It suited him, the eldest decided, very deliberately _not _looking in the direction of a particular stack of magazines. They were _all _grown-ups now, and they were _all _perfectly capable of looking after themselves; more to the point, this was _Michelangelo's_ home and not his. He knew well enough to respect that. Besides, there were more urgent matters at hand here than what made for suitable reading material.

"I guess. Kids always have parties and stuff going on and ninjas are a pretty fashionable theme right now," Mike admitted off-handedly, rubbing the back of his head. He allowed his gaze to settle on his genius brother with a wide grin. "Nice to see _someone_ kept you informed, Leo."

Donnie's mouth flickered in a passable imitation of his little brother's grin, unable to ignore the infectiousness of it. "It's a long ride from New York to San Diego and he's just no good at I-Spy." He stated casually, casting a somewhat teasing glance at his older brother.

"Never was. Of course, you guys could have reveled in the awkward silence of a _true _cross-country trip if a certain _someone_ would just get himself a P.O. Box and let me mail him a few letters. You know, instead of waiting for random visits to get news."

"I'll be sure to keep that in mind," Leonardo said, rolling his eyes at Mikey's clearly pointed remark and crossing his arms over his plastron. Regardless of the act, he still had the decency to sound like he actually would. "Though I'm sure I'd appreciate these so-called random visits, if they ever seemed to happen."

"Score one for Leo," the youngest said with a snort. "But seriously, since we're on the subject…" He began leadingly, settling on the floor in front of the couch with a plunk. "Something tells me this isn't just a social call. And I've still got my mad Battle Nexus instincts, you know."

And there they went again, tuning him out and disappearing into their own little world like they were afraid of what he was going to think. Like he couldn't be trusted or couldn't handle himself or something. _Or maybe, _his voice of reason cut in sharply, _they were about to throw out some seriously bad news. _Mike fought to keep the corners of his mouth from taking a downward dive just in time for Don to become the unfortunate loser of some kind of silent debate. The genius sighed dejectedly, facing his younger brother head on.

"No. It's not just a social call, Mike." Michelangelo's mouth went from fighting a frown to quirking a one-sided smile.

"Need to borrow money or something?" Leonardo shot him a slightly annoyed glare.

"Do you really think we'd spend all that time traveling across the country to borrow money from you?"

The smile grew in size. "Okay, you aren't here for money. Ooh, I know, you're…on the run from some kind of huge crime syndicate."

"Crime syndicate?" The eldest asked disbelievingly, more than willing to run a distraction for as long as he could.

Mikey shrugged in response. "Wouldn't be that surprising, really, considering all the business we had with the Foot back in the day. Right Don?"

Donatello's head snapped up as he was jolted from his thoughts. And of course, of _course _his brother had mentioned the Foot. Even breaking potentially devastating news couldn't be done without a higher power reminding him of it further. Realizing that Mikey had asked him a question, he quickly nodded in agreement.

It did make sense, after all. Michelangelo quirked a thoughtful eye-ridge at them, clearly mulling over other possibilities in his mind while his brothers stiffened slightly at the mention of their old enemies.

"Who died, then?" The youngest turtle asked in hopes of breaking the sudden tension in the air. His eyes flickered between the two daringly, glinting with subdued sarcastic humor.

This, apparently, was not the question to ask, for they exchanged another weighted look, eyes grim and fatigued and more than a little apprehensive. Blue eyes narrowed slightly before widening in revelation of the probable cause of that look. The half-smile slid from his face as seamlessly as though it had never been there to begin with. _Oh hell. _

"Guys?" He asked, voice unable to rise above a whisper. "Who died?"

*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*

_You had to start joking around. You just __**had **__to open your big mouth. Stupid, stupid, __**stupid.**_

Michelangelo resisted the urge to repeatedly slam his head into the nearest heavy object. He should have known there would be some horrific reason behind this visit. His stupid voice of reason had been right, yet again. Maybe it was time for him to start giving it the time of day. On another level of thought, he figured he'd expected some kind of grim news out of this whole affair, right from the start.

But he'd expected 'grim news' to entail something like 'O'Neil Tech tanked' or 'the tunnels around the lair collapsed and Leo's homeless now.' Shell, maybe even a 'Raph sent a postcard and said he left because he hated your guts then and he does to this very day. His hatred for the rest of us burns with enough intensity to vanquish the very sun.'

He loved his brothers and all, but nowadays visits were pretty much limited to emergency situations and bad news and the like. It was just the way things _were._ Nonetheless, the youngest turtle looked between the other two and wished that this were some kind of nightmare or a ridiculously cruel joke.

But it wasn't. It wasn't, because Donnie was trying not to cry and Leo was wearing his 'disturbed yet angry' face and they were telling him that April was…she really was _dead. _The Foot clan was back in action and they were down a friend to boot.

Things really weren't looking up for them. Mikey let out a sigh, shaking his head and feeling his face start to crumple a little as the news started to sink in.

"You're…you're sure about this?" He asked, internally wincing at how hoarse his voice sounded as it came out. "It's not that I don't- I mean, I believe you, it's just…you know, sometimes things happen so fast and you think something's one way but it turns out later that it _wasn't _the way you thought it was, you know, like it was this whole big mess of a misunderstanding and you- you-"

His throat seemed to close everything off in the middle of his sentence and Michelangelo was secretly a little grateful for it; he had the tendency to ramble himself into hysterics when he was really upset about something, and now just didn't seem like a convenient time for that.

But…God, this whole damn situation was just so _unfair. _

Leonardo seemed to instinctively recognize his little brother's pre-crying expression and carefully relocated from the couch to the floor, hesitating before placing an awkward arm around his shoulders. The eldest held back a slight sigh as his brother jumped at the contact. It had been a long time since he'd faced this sort of situation. Wasn't he supposed to be good at this kind of thing?

Mikey relaxed again and started sniffling, having somehow retained the ability to look like the single most miserable creature on earth throughout the years. Leo shook his head a little. Of all the talents to be imbued with by nature…he wished that his comforting skills had been as natural. Maybe then he wouldn't feel quite so pulled between sympathy or feeling alarmed and pushing his brother off on the only other living thing in the room.

Donnie quietly pulled a pack of tissues from his duffel bag and offered it to the pair, eyes slightly distant. "Sorry, Mikey," he said softly. "There was really no mistaking it, as far as this went."

Michelangelo took a breath, wiped his eyes on the back of his hand and nodded. This probably wasn't the right time to start bawling like a baby; at least not if the look his brothers were trading was anything to go by. Crying never really accomplished anything as it was. Eight years or so ago, he would've received a smack to the back of the head from Raph and a very polite request to focus from Leo. Just the memory was slightly irritating. For all the friction those two supposedly had, they were pretty good at double-teaming it.

"Okay," he said, voice a little firmer than it had been before. "April's gone and the Foot are back: and you guys obviously have some sort of plan of action. What exactly do you wanna do?"

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_Uh...*shuffles in quietly* Hi. So it's been a while, but yeah, there was that fifth chapter. It's a bit longer than chapters prior, so hopefully that prevents violence- *ducks* _

_IF YOU KEEL ME, NO MORE CHAPTERS FOR CHOO. _

_Thanks for beta-ing again, Kallasilya! *bows in gratitude*_


	6. Chapter 6

_Obligatory Author's Note: 0-o Uh. Yeah. Been a while. *fidget* Look, road trip chapter! You read it while I run the other way!_

_Disclaimer: Yeah, no. Probably a good thing, too._

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_YOU ARE NOW LEAVING CALIFORNIA._

It was more fate than anything that had Donatello leaning forward to peer through the windshield of the clunky old van in time to catch a glimpse of the roadside sign as it whizzed by. The words had been barely visible in the late-night darkness and normally the genius wouldn't have bothered noticing- but he supposed that if he hadn't looked, the next opportunity he'd get to figure out their location would be when it was his turn to drive in who knew how long.

Nothing like not knowing you're out of California until you're halfway through Kansas to make a journey more interesting.

Leonardo glanced over from his position in the driver's seat and started, a half-exasperated frown cutting across his features. "Don. I know we're trained ninja, but is there really a need to be stealthy in the vehicle?"

The genius sat back with a sheepish grin. "Oh, sorry. Didn't mean to startle you."

"Just...stay in your seat, will you? I don't want to crash because your head mysteriously appeared by my elbow."

"Leo, there aren't any _seats _to stay in back here," Michelangelo piped up from further back in the vehicle, attempting to make a pillow out of a bag of plastic eating utensils. "I mean, if you really want I can dig up some streamers and tie him up or duct tape him to the side of the van, but otherwise-"

"Why would you buy a van without seats in the back? There had to have been better options to invest in," the eldest brother admonished, quickly peering at him through the rear-view mirror.

The owner in question rolled his eyes. "Okay, first off, I'm a _giant walking turtle. _I couldn't just head out to the nearest dealer and start test-driving. Second- do you really think that I make that much money off of balloon animals and knock-knock jokes? Buy what you can afford, dude- that's probably life's biggest lesson right there. Third-"

"I think he gets it," Donnie offered quietly, hoping to end the rather agitating tirade. Mike very eagerly ignored him, enjoying the feeling of making a point to his increasingly annoyed-looking brother.

"THIRD," he continued meaningfully, "When I bought this I wasn't planning on stuffing in passengers for a sudden cross-country trip. I just needed room for me, the head and the gear. And lastly, I really don't see where you get off complaining about the mode of transportation when I volunteered it to replace the hunk of nothing you two rolled in on. Be grateful, why don't you?"

"Alright, alright, I'm sorry," Leo offered hastily. "It was very gracious of you to offer your van and I'm honored that you're letting me drive it."

Michelangelo's smile was nothing short of devious. "That's more like it. So how come you guys didn't just come storming over in the Battle Shell or something?"

Donnie fiddled with a piece of seat interior protruding from behind Leonardo. "We considered it, but-"

"Well, the Battle Shell was really conspicuous anyway-"

"-it's been in New York all this time and I never showed Leo how to maintain it. That's probably a week's work in itself, but just wait until you see the helicopter."

The only suitable response Mike found was a shrug and an "oh."

There were a few minutes of silence- during which Don pulled a stray fork out from under himself and noted that Leonardo cleared his throat three times- at which point Mikey glanced through the windshield and seemed to deflate slightly. Which, the genius reflected, was what he himself had done about halfway through his journey from Boston to New York.

"Miss it already, Mike?" He asked quietly, snapping the youngest turtle to attention.

"What, the party biz? Not exactly. I love kids and all, but you can only get kicked in the crotch so many times before the novelty wears off. Guess it's just as good I don't have a girlfriend," he mused. "Nobody ever goes for damaged goods these days."

The genius blanched. "Ah. Um. Not what I meant, but thank you for that...charming mental image."

"What was it he used to say? Too much information?" Leonardo supplied, wearing his own less-than-impressed expression. Mikey just shrugged in response.

"I didn't mean the 'party biz,' anyway. I meant California," Don informed him, just short of being amused.

"Oh. Well, uh, no- not exactly. Not like San Diego's all that different from any other big city."

"You've still been living there for years."

"Yeah, well...that doesn't really have to mean anything. It's not the place a person misses, y'know?"

Donatello thought that maybe he did. After all, he didn't miss Boston for the architecture or the citizens: it was more about the freedom he'd had to leave behind. The knowledge that their greatest enemy no longer existed, that the past had been firmly put in its place behind them and would stay there. It had been- in spite of the fact that their family was scattered to the winds- comfortable. He'd felt like they were safe, a feeling that hadn't been as well backed as he'd hoped. The feeling was one quickly dissolved, which he supposed was roughly the extent of Mike's slight gloom.

Other than the fact that one of their closest friends was dead. And that they wouldn't be going to her funeral. Not to mention that they were about to try to round up the fourth member of their team in order to charge towards the enemy head-on; that was practically a suicide mission in itself, not to mention the difficulty of finding the afore-mentioned member.

Even while he strongly considered asking Leo to surrender the wheel so that he could turn them back around in order to hop a boat to Hawaii (and who knew? Raphael could have even retired there ahead of them), Don couldn't help but feel a strange sense of grim satisfaction regarding the entire situation. They weren't going to look the other way and keep their heads down, something that he felt would have been their primary course of action not long ago. Instead of hiding from their problems, they would be meeting the enemy face-to-face and together. Not necessarily as a _family_, and perhaps only as the barest definition of a team, but together nonetheless. He wondered if April and their father would have been glad to see it.

Michelangelo seemed to notice that his older brother was becoming wrapped up in a less than enthusiastic mindset, and so decided to intercede by asking if he wanted to play I Spy.

Yeah, this was going to be a long trip.

****^****^****^****

_WELCOME TO OKLAHOMA!_

"You guys ever feel like we're always living out some kind of stupid Scooby-Doo parody?" Mikey asked as he switched lanes, voice somewhat muffled due to the fact that he had been forced to don the cumbersome head of Cowabunga Carl once the sun had risen.

"Traveling across the country in a clunky neon van so we can solve some kind of mystery, gathering the team together after about a million years- come on, we've even got the talking animals thing covered! I think someone upstairs likes kicking us in the cajones, bros."

Leonardo raised an appraising eye ridge, casually turning a roll of streamers in his hands and casting a sidelong glance at Don. The genius shrugged and leaned more comfortably against the side of the van, indicating that he wouldn't be touching this particular conversation.

"Oh, whatever do you mean, Mike? I'm totally eager to converse with you- it's the least I could do after forcing you to wear the head from hell," the turtle at the wheel muttered half-jokingly. His brothers sighed simultaneously.

"I know you hate the costume, but it's not like you're putting up with it forever," Leo pleaded. "We can't just go driving around in broad daylight without some kind of cover."

"Knowing that doesn't make me like it any," the youngest insisted sourly. His voice perked up a little for his next sentence. "Just like in the bad old days, eh Donnie? Makes ya wanna add to the Mystery Machine motif by having a really trippy flashback or something."

"By all means, feel free to do so once your turn at the wheel has ended," Don replied dryly, a slightly amused grin stretching across his face.

"As long as it isn't a montage flashback. I can just see it now," Leonardo interjected. "Cowabunga Carl, the Ghost of the Jungle, Don the IT Agent and the Nightwatcher, all running around some giant maze of a mansion to a soft rock instrumental."

Donatello's face contorted as he pictured the scene. "Chased by screaming children, street gangs, Hispanic crime lords and clients seeking vengeance for being mistaken for the opposite gender."

There were a few seconds of silence, broken by Michelangelo's amused chuckle. "You guys just love to crush my philosophies, don't you?"

"Passes the time," Don admitted. "Not that I don't see the general idea behind it."

His face was hidden, but the sarcastic glare was all too easy to detect in Mikey's voice. "Gee willikers- acknowledgement. My life has suddenly been given unexpected meaning. Thank you _so much_, Donatello."

"You're welcome, Raphael Junior."

The silence following the genius's retort was much longer than the one prior.

****^****^****^****

_SOMEWHERE IN ILLINOIS_

Donatello snarled, slamming one hand onto the horn with unnecessary force and jerking the vehicle back into a straight course. The _nerve _of some of the people on the road- as though there weren't anyone else driving alongside them, as though it was impossible to be the least bit courteous and avoidant of wreckage and injury.

The earth was utterly filled with idiots, he determined.

"If you're going to switch lanes, you use your damned turn signal," he growled furiously. "I don't even have a _license _and I can drive circles around these idiots! Why don't they ever give I.Q. tests to potential drivers, that's sure to weed out a few unworthy specimens-"

Mike chortled, unraveling the roll of streamers that Leonardo had discarded in favor of trying to catch a nap and amusing himself by wrapping his hands up in it as best he could. "I spy with my little eye, something green and succumbing to road rage," he pointed out in a sing-song tone.

"Well it spies you back and may resort to strangling you with your own party favors," Don responded irritably.

"Ooh, positively _snappish_ of you. What brings about this sudden charming attitude?"

"You may have forgotten this in the past few years Mikey, so let me remind you. When someone as placid as Don threatens to strangle you, that's generally a good time to keep your mouth shut," Leo warned his brother drowsily, apparently unbothered by the noise surrounding him.

The bright green crepe paper made the nonchalant wave seem far more humorous than it had been intended, but Mike figured that it got the job done. "Don't be ridiculous, he doesn't _mind._"

"He does. So listen to Leo and don't talk to him unless it's to _tell_ him he can take off this ridiculous headpiece," Don snapped.

Leonardo cracked open an eye with a slight frown. "I figured Mikey would complain, but I thought that you at least wouldn't mind," he mumbled. "You know it's important for security purposes."

"And can you stop talking in third person? It's...kind of annoying." Michelangelo added. He briefly attempted to pick up one of his eldest brother's feet in order to wrap him up as well, but was dissuaded by a particularly stern glance.

Figured: only a few brotherly traits had made it to their age of nearly thirty and most of them were the uptight bossy ones. Mike rolled his eyes and conceded to the glare.

"Says the one whose driving schedule conveniently leaves his head uncovered and the one who could never keep his fingers off of shiny buttons." Don muttered, making a sound that might have been a frustrated huff (though it was particularly hard to tell given his current wardrobe). "I can see why you never kept this thing on, Mikey," he called out with very little real sympathy.

"If you'd only known then what you know now," the younger turtle cried in mock lamentation, pretending that said sympathy had been sincere.

"I would've made Raph substitute for you a few times," his brother finished firmly. "Maybe a few hours in this would have forced him to settle down a bit."

For a minute or so, silence reigned once more- but Michelangelo determined that avoiding mentioning their only remaining brother wouldn't exactly be conducive to finding him or convincing him to come along. There had also been a question flying around in his head for several hours' time and he was more than a little determined to get an answer.

"How exactly…are we supposed to find him?" He asked softly.

Leonardo stared intensely at the back of the front passenger's seat, avoiding meeting Mike's gaze as he deliberated. "…I don't know," he admitted eventually. "I've got a few ideas, but they're nothing concrete- and it's not like we've got any kind of trail to follow."

The words flowed from his mouth hesitantly as he discovered that they were more painful to say than he'd thought they would be. He was supposed to have a set plan for this, because he'd always been the one with the strategies _before_. Insecurity, hesitation- they were traits he'd never taken the time to acknowledge, in favor of surety, confidence, rolling with the punches competently.

But that had been back when he was a leader with a trained, cohesive team to back him up. This...this so-called team they were rebuilding: at the moment it felt like nothing more than one built out of necessity, ghosts and guilt. Like something broken being hastily scooped into a bag and left there in a dozen pieces.

They didn't have to be pieced back together for this, he told himself as firmly as he dared. They just needed to be in the same place at the same time and for the same purpose.

"Do you think we even really have a chance?" Michelangelo's voice pulled him out of his thoughts in order to meet the other's gaze in surprise.

"We wouldn't be trying to find him if I thought we didn't," he offered in answer.

"You say that, but you don't mean it. This could just be some kind of huge waste of time- time that we need to use to track down the Foot."

"He's got a point," Don stated from the front. "It's been a long time. If he'd wanted anything to do with us…if he wanted to be found…I mean, he didn't leave so much as a note. Leo, he could be anywhere in the _world_ right now."

"Where he is isn't important and I highly doubt that the Foot Clan is going to just vanish again. Raph's still a part of this team. We can't do this without him."

"You guys," Mike suggested in a pained manner, voice the quietest it had been in several hours' time, "really seem to be taking for granted that he's still actually alive."

"Why wouldn't he be?" Came Donatello's retort, exaggeratedly casual.

"Don't get me wrong, it's not like I don't think he could_ still _be running around somewhere. It's just- I mean, this is the guy who'd charge just because everyone else told him to back off. You know, _Raph_, who would've gotten himself chopped up a million times over if we weren't there to stop him?"

Leonardo didn't have anything to say to that, because he was slightly afraid that if he really considered the facts, Mikey's theory would turn out to be more and more of a reality. He loved all of his brothers and had learned to accept both their assets and their faults over the years, but Raph had always been particularly difficult to cope with. Sometimes, before this entire ordeal with April had been set into motion, he would find himself wondering what could possibly keep his brother from losing all control now that his family was no longer around to rein him in.

More specifically, now that Leonardo himself was no longer around to rein him in.

In the past he'd wondered if Raphael held any kind of real concern as to his own well-being or if he just kept himself alive and at home for everyone else. So often, the only thing that came between him and an early grave had been the insistence of a brother or of Master Splinter himself.

It was a matter of control, which was something that the second-youngest just never seemed to be able to gain.

Part of Leonardo determined that his brother was still alive and well, somewhere, and that they were bound to find him. Even though it would probably be merely due to the fact that Raphael was drawn to trouble as naturally as birds were drawn to trees.

Another part of Leo wondered how they would be able to get the materials for a headstone now that April was no longer around to help.

He told himself to shut up and go back to sleep.

****^****^****^****

_NEW YORK, NEW YORK_

Donatello stretched his arms over his head with a small groan, nearly losing his footing in the murky water of the sewers as he did so. He was quick to straighten himself up once more, glancing at the figures before him and breathing a sigh of relief that they hadn't noticed. It seemed that Mikey's insatiable appetite for interaction had actually helped him save face for once.

Slipping in sewer water like some sort of klutzy pre-teen in a school cafeteria? _Him?_ Time certainly had a way of changing things.

Then again, he considered, glancing at the tunnels that had certainly failed to grow less familiar over the years, it also had a way of leaving things exactly the way they'd been before.

April probably could have explained the idea more accurately. Of course, she would have done so while carrying bags of groceries and keeping perfectly balanced. Before everybody separated, before all of those years had passed, he would have taken care to try to forget what she said out of sheer jesting spite.

Strange how quickly it had gone from that to Donatello thinking that he would have gladly traded almost anything for one last bit of advice.

"Tell me I'm not hearing this! The great Leonardo, living on takeout?" Mike cried in a strange combination of horror and glee. "How long has it been since you've had any real food?"

Leonardo shrugged amiably. "I haven't kept track. There _are _more important things to think about than takeout and how often I have it."

"That's only because you're used to it. Like how Don probably couldn't tell us how much coffee and _non_-food he downed in a day in Boston. Doesn't mean you guys weren't doing a little overkill. It's not like you have absolutely no cooking skills," the youngest said in tone eerily close to lecturing.

Leonardo avoided replying to the statement by very hurriedly pushing forward and opening the entrance to the lair. This was around the time that what Mike had once fondly dubbed his 'ninja sense' started sending off alarm bells in his head. He halted momentarily in the doorway, ignored and pushed slightly to the side as Mikey entered in a haze of nostalgia.

It was rather quickly shaken off.

"Geez, Leo, I know you're not paying a bill or anything but leaving all the lights on while you're on a cross-country trip? That probably cost us, like, _seven _rainforests or something," he called as he dashed in, ducking into one or two rooms in order to flip light switches.

Leonardo frowned. "I didn't-"

"My ears must be deceiving me! What happened to the little brother that left his video game on and paused for three days straight until he was allowed to play it again?" Donnie shouted back, cutting his brother off.

Mike turned around with a cheeky grin. "That's California, baby- if you go a year without becoming forty percent silicon, they make a tree hugger out of you."

"Guys, shut up for a minute. You can do your weird banter thing later," Leo said sharply, casting suspicious glances around the main room. Both were immediately vigilant.

"What's up?" Don asked, voice urgent.

"_I _didn't leave the lights on. Don, you were there, you waited while I made sure they were all off," the eldest explained. After a moment during which the other two simply blinked at him, he elaborated just in case. "Someone else has been here."

* * *

_FORGIVENESS! T-T_


End file.
